


words never used and half forgotten

by AlexandrinTea



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dead Languages, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, M/M, Skyhold (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-18 01:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19966114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandrinTea/pseuds/AlexandrinTea
Summary: What do you do when you can't exactly say what you feel, but can't keep it secret, either?





	words never used and half forgotten

_Amatus._

The first time he says it, it comes out effortlessly, almost if by mistake. A simple word, peppered into conversation like any other. An unfamiliar sensation on his tongue, a strange visitor that leaves as soon as he arrives. It’s a word he’s never said before, not even in his thoughts.

He panics, for a second. Cyriel asks questions, Cyriel is made of questions, really; he takes people and conflicts and issues and takes them apart with slender, apt fingers, getting to the core of them in a matter of minutes. He’s going to ask.

He doesn’t. Dorian feels glad, and relieved, and a touch disappointed, like he would have liked Cyriel to ask, like he would have liked to explain. But that’s absolute nonsense, of course. This word is _safe_ , or as safe as it gets with the feeling behind it being so terrifying; and it’s safer than not saying anything and regretting it till his dying day. After Adamant, that begins to seem like a very real possibility.

So he says it again, the next time, and then after that, and again after that. It becomes his customary greeting between them, it becomes something that gets whispered, moaned, cut off with a cry just after dusk, just before dawn, somewhere in the Skyhold night. Cyriel never asks.

And anyway, Dorian doesn’t ask about _ma vhenan_ , either; not that he needs to. Cyriel addresses his hart, that massive rufous beast with antlers that could easily gore a man as _da'len_ ; pet names of his should not be attached much importance to.

That is, until they return to Skyhold after a few days spent on the Exalted Plains (Dorian suspects that it will take days to get the rank smell of marshy water out of his boots) and Cyriel passes him by on his way back from discussing some items he's found with the researcher.

‘Have _you_ been to your quarters lately, Dorian?’ the elf asks with a glint in his eyes. He seems happy to finally be able to turn that question back on the mage, Dorian notes.

‘Sometimes I forget I even have quarters. What with these frequent incursions to Maker-forsaken fens and such.’

‘I can leave you here next time, you know,’ Cyriel teases, barely slowing his stride. Dorian decides to lock step and accompany him down the corridor. ‘Find you something interesting to do — discuss the differences between Chantry doctrine with Mother Giselle, perhaps? Tutor Cassandra in penmanship?’

‘I would prefer my head to stay firmly attached to my neck, thank you very much,’ Dorian replies with a grin. ‘Drinks later?’

‘You know where to find me,’ Cyriel says, already halfway down the stairs. His hand brushes against Dorian’s arm, hurriedly, apologetically, and he’s gone.

The mage shakes his head. He’d be lying if he said that the elf did not manage to pique his interest. After all, he does just that with alarming regularity. However, he wouldn’t want to seem overeager, not to mention that he hasn’t finished with this particular tome yet. There are still some notes to make on the strange goings-on in the Western Approach, he thinks, picking up a pen and settling back into his chair.

It’s not until several hours later when he finally puts the book down and rubs his forehead with a sigh. He’d never thought this sentence could ever leave his lips, but maybe this has been enough reading for one day. Anything else would probably not contribute anything to their fight against Venatori forces in the area — all the more to his beginning headache. So he decides to head to his quarters for a quick nap at the very least.

Admittedly, he really doesn’t spend an awful lot of time in here, if the layer of dust covering the sparse furnishings of the room is anything to go by. Then again: he’s either in some lousy tent (camping! The scion of House Pavus, camping! What has the world come to), or, if they are back at Skyhold for an extended period, he finds himself spending his nights… elsewhere. And why wouldn’t he? After all, the Inquisitor’s quarters offer the best view of the entire fortress. Who wouldn’t prefer that to this stark and dreary hole in the wall?

But even as distracted as he is, he notices that the layer of dust over the room is not uniform — there’s the distinct pattern of footprints leading from the door to his bed. Dorian is not much of a tracker (the study of wilderness survival has never seemed like a worthwhile investment in his line of work) but he’s been following in the steps of those Dalish boots long enough that he would recognise them anywhere. He’s following them now, to the foot of his bed, where he spots a carefully placed bundle waiting for him. There is a folded note on top that Dorian puts aside, for now. Whatever it says can probably wait until after he’s inspected the contents, he figures, and unties the cord holding the bundle together.

He’s glad no one is there to hear him gasp in surprise. His fingers remember the material quicker than his brain could identify it, the cool touch of thick, lustrous silk weave. A coat of brilliant white Vyrantium samite unfurls in his hands, a black serpent coiling down the back. It feels heavy, and as Dorian turns it over he sees the cleverly hidden stitches of quilting on the inside. A sensible garment to protect from these cold Southern climates he keeps complaining about; and a masterpiece of Tevinter style and decadence, a perfect accompaniment to his armour of dark leather and silverite. How very like Cyriel, and how very like Dorian himself.

He takes a deep breath before reaching for the note. Does he even need to read it? What could it say that would equal this, this strange, sweet light-headed sensation of fondness, of gratitude? He wonders as he unfolds the piece of paper, spots the bold and straightforward letters of the Inquisitor, nothing like the strict militaristic lines of Cullen, the delicate cursive of Josephine or his own ostentatious calligraphy. Four words, above a signature, written with the care Cyriel awards to monarchs and generals, alliances that will change the course of history.

_Te amabo in aeternum._

Dorian smiles, screws his eyes shut with a force so hard it almost hurts. He doesn’t mind. For someone who keeps saying how much he hates politics and people not saying what they mean, Cyriel is remarkably proficient when it comes to a game of words. Even words not his own, long fallen out of memory; words never used and half forgotten, making them his own just to say what Dorian himself is too afraid to. And now Dorian believes he can return that favour. He grabs the note and heads back to the library to retrieve a pen.

_Ar lath ma, vhenan._

He pockets the piece of paper to sneak it onto the Inquisitor’s desk at the earliest opportunity, then all but bolts out of the room and down the stairs. After all, there is someone waiting for him tonight, and he has a promise to keep.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! My first fanfic, here we go!  
> A couple of things: it's kind of tricksy doing this with Tevene in particular, because we know very little of what the language sounds like. They seem to borrow a lot from Elven (which makes sense) but they also have a lot of Latin and pseudo-Latin in there. After some deliberation, I decided to go with Latin here for two reasons: one, "amatus" is already Latin, and two: so that I don't have to make something up wholesale and people have a sliver of a chance to understand what's going on.  
> I'm super excited to see if what we suspect (based on the short story collection) is true and DA4 is gonna be set in Tevinter, I for one would love to see more Tevene creep up in the lore! I'm a sucker for dead languages and DA:I gave us a generous helping of Elven already.


End file.
